


Last of Days

by Klitch



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, sudden but inevitable betrayal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klitch/pseuds/Klitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it felt as if the day Fushimi had joined Homra he'd received a deep cut to the vein and he'd been bleeding out slowly ever since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look I wrote another thing. Another angsty, depressing...thing. Yay? This one's a little shorter than the last one but I'm trying to split it into more manageable parts this time. Probably about 4-5 chapters all together, depending on how the rest of the editing turns out.

“Delicious~~”

The sound of Misaki’s voice was just enough to get Fushimi to look up from where his gaze had been fixed firmly on the pavement.

“This was a great idea, Totsuka-san!” Misaki chattered happily, taking a bite of the crepe in his hand. Of course it had been Totsuka’s idea. ‘I just saw the new crepe shop opened and I thought Anna-chan would like to try one,’ so naturally they all had to go along. Fushimi would have refused but Misaki had grabbed him by the hand and announced that they would both be coming along too.

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue in irritation. After all that dragging him out of the bar, Misaki had barely so much as looked at him since they’d gotten their food. He was walking at the head of the group now, right beside Mikoto, blabbering on about something pointless.

_Stupid. This is all stupid._ From his spot at the back of the group, Fushimi stared fixedly at Misaki’s back. _Why did I have to come along?_

Misaki hadn’t turned around once, not since they’d left the bar. Fushimi’s throat felt hot and he took a small bite of his own crepe, forcefully tearing his eyes away from Misaki and making himself look anywhere else. The food tasted dry and flat in his mouth and his head was pounding slightly. 

_I should have stayed behind. This is stupid. Why do I have to come along for these types of things? It’s pointless. It makes me sick._

He’d come along because Misaki had wanted him to. Because they were ‘comrades,’ because Homra had ‘bonds’ and did things like this, went out and had fun together, like a family.

_It makes me sick._

“Fushimi?” Totsuka’s smiling face appeared in his field of view and Fushimi clicked his tongue again, looking away. “Are you all right? You don’t like crepes?”

Fushimi glared darkly up at him. Memories fluttered up, unwanted, and his muscles tensed.

_(“Saruhiko!” Misaki poked his shoulder and Fushimi looked up from where he’d been sitting at his desk, staring idly out the window._

_“What?”_

_“Hey, after class, you want to go to the crepe place down the block with me?” Misaki was smiling like an idiot, the way he always did, and it made Fushimi’s heart pound uncomfortably. He looked away with an irritated click of his tongue._

_“Crepes? What are you, a girl?”_

_“H-hey, guys can like them too!” Misaki insisted._

_“That’s where all the girls go on dates though, right?” Fushimi said calmly and Misaki’s face turned slightly red as he looked away._

_“M-maybe,” he muttered. “B-but anyway, some girls in the hall were talking about it earlier and they said it’s really good, so—so I figured I should try it.”_

_“And you can’t ask a girl to go with you since you’re too much of a virgin,” Fushimi declared._

_“What the hell was that?” Misaki snapped. “I-I am not. I could ask any girl I wanted. I just—I just thought I’d rather go with you, that’s all.”_

_Fushimi’s face felt hot and he looked up abruptly. Misaki’s eyes were turned away, clenched hands stuffed in his pockets. Fushimi closed his book and stood._

_“Fine. Let’s go.”_

_“You’ll come?” Misaki’s face immediately brightened, as if someone had flipped a switch. The sight of it made Fushimi’s breath hitch just slightly, and he clicked his tongue again to cover it. “You’re the best, Saruhiko! We can each get a different one and split them, okay?”_

_He began to lead the way out of the classroom and Fushimi followed silently behind, as he always did.)_

“I don’t like sweet things,” Fushimi said coolly, brushing the thoughts away like mud. Totsuka was still smiling at him with that annoying face of his, as if he knew exactly what Fushimi was thinking, and Fushimi stared coldly back.

_Don’t look at me as if you understand me. Don’t look at me as if you know._

Totsuka seemed about to say something else when he was interrupted by Anna pulling at his sleeve. He turned to reply to her and Fushimi slowed his pace, falling back further and further behind the group.

 _Stupid. All of this is stupid._ Misaki was still ahead of him, arguing with Kamamoto about something as Mikoto looked on. Fushimi’s feet seemed to stop of their own accord and he stood there as the rest of Homra walked away from him up the crest of a hill. In moments they would all be out of sight. Fushimi’s chest felt hot. 

_Misaki._ The name cut through his mind like an open wound. _When are you going to remember I’m here?_

They were almost out of his field of view now. A few more steps and Fushimi would be completely out of Misaki’s sight.

 _Misaki. Misaki. Misaki._ He couldn’t stop it. The name was like the beating of his heart.

They reached the top of the hill and soon Fushimi couldn’t see any of them anymore. His fists clenched.

“Tch.” Fushimi tossed the barely-eaten crepe into the nearest trash can before turning and walking deliberately in the opposite direction.

—

The bright clear sky had begun to grow choked by clouds and still Fushimi walked. He’d long ago lost track of where he was going, if he’d ever had any idea in the first place, and by now he was only walking for the sake of it, just walking so that he could be alone and not have to play his part in pretending he was a member of that group. Walking, so he wouldn’t have to act like he was comrades with those people who had so easily taken Misaki from him.

So he wouldn’t have to watch Misaki talking and smiling and laughing with other people and feel the pain in his head throbbing so hard he couldn’t even think.

Fushimi pulled his PDA out of his pocket and stared at it for a moment. He’d turned it off soon after he’d walked away from the group and part of him wondered if he should turn it back on. Maybe there would be a message for him. Maybe Misaki had noticed that he’d gone. Maybe Misaki had called him, looking for him.

Or maybe there would be nothing at all. Fushimi stuffed the PDA back in his pocket.

It was stupid. It was all so stupid. Fushimi didn’t see why Misaki cared about Homra so much. Hadn’t it always been enough before, when it had been only the two of them? That had been all they’d ever needed, just each other. He didn’t understand why they had even bothered with Homra at all.

Fushimi had never wanted to join in the first place. He’d known from the start that it wasn’t a place for him. That kind of place, full of people who spoke empty words about ‘bonds’ and ‘comrades’ — Fushimi knew better than to trust that kind of thing. They would tell him _now_ , that he was part of them, but in the end it would all be the same lie it always was. Fushimi could feel it straight down to his bones, that he wasn’t like the rest. There was no point in trying to become a part of that group when it wouldn’t change anything anyway. The day would still come that they would break apart and ask him leave, and Fushimi would simply have to go.

These were things Fushimi had always known, that everything broke eventually, so there was no point in forging those bonds in the first place.

But Misaki didn’t seem to understand that. Stupid idiot Misaki, acting like they had ever needed heroes or saving. They’d had each other. That should have been enough.

Fushimi’s head was pounding and he ignored it. There was a pain in his chest that seemed to have always been there and it made it difficult for him to breathe. Sometimes it felt as if the day he’d joined Homra he’d received a deep cut to the vein and he’d been bleeding out slowly ever since.

 _Misaki. Misaki._ Fushimi grit his teeth and leaned against the nearest wall, breathing hard. It was like drowning, here on his own, and he wasn’t even sure he understood why. He’d always been fine on his own. He’d never needed anyone before, never needed people to smile at him, to say his name like they cared.

_(He sat in a cold empty room and stared at the wall, swallowed whole by silence and sick to his core of the world around him and all the people in it.)_

_(If everything could all disappear, everything in this world, it would be fine. He had no need for any of it.)_

Never needed anyone, except Misaki.

Somebody slammed roughly into him then, jolting him from his thoughts and pushing him up against the brick wall. Fushimi glanced up sharply, irritated.

“You got a lot of guts to walk through this part of town, kid.” There were five of them, standing in a semi-circle that neatly blocked the mouth of the alleyway Fushimi had wandered into. They all looked big and dumb and violent, and Fushimi felt a sudden spike of anger.

All these petty annoyances, always hovering around him. There was a red haze building in his mind and Fushimi grit his teeth.

“Do you even know where you _are?_ ” another of the punks said, pulling on the band of black cloth he wore around one arm. Fushimi noted that all of them were wearing the same band and it clicked in his mind.

That was right, there had been some issue with another gang causing trouble in the city. He remembered Misaki blabbering on about it, something about ‘how dare those punks cause trouble in Mikoto-san’s territory’ or some useless crap like that. Fushimi dimly recalled Misaki claiming they had run the group off at some point and complaining that Fushimi had skipped out on it. Apparently they had missed a few.

“Leave me alone,” Fushimi muttered dismissively, turning to walk the other way. It was none of his business, whatever issue this trash had with Homra.

“You don’t get out of this that easy, punk.” One of the men reached out and grabbed Fushimi’s collar, pulling open his shirt slightly to reveal the Homra tattoo on his chest. “I thought so. You’re one of those damn Homra punks who think they own this town, aren’t you? You think just because you got all those fancy powers you can do whatever you want, huh?”

“But you’re not so tough without that king of yours,” another of the men added, smirking. “I think it’s time we send them a message. We’ll carve it into your flesh. See how your precious king likes that.”

“My king,” Fushimi said blandly. Something shuddered in his mind and somehow he found a laugh bubbling in his throat.

Stupid. Everything really was just completely stupid. So many useless things.

The red haze reached up and overtook him, and Fushimi smiled as he slid the knives into his hands.

\--

Fushimi panted hard and fell back against the wall, blood-stained knives disappearing up his sleeves as he clutched at the bleeding hole in his side. He hadn’t expected one of them to be a Strain, but it had all worked out the same in the end.

The ground beneath him was wet with blood and the five men who had attacked him lay still and unmoving all around him. He wasn’t completely certain if they were all still alive and he was not quite surprised to realize that he didn’t even care.

It had felt good, in any case. Blades slicing through flesh and bone, the blood pounding in his ears, heart beating hard in his chest. He had almost forgotten the reason he was walking alone in the first place, swallowed whole by the blade and the kill.

It was almost worth being in the world, when his blades drew blood so beautifully.

The wound throbbed and Fushimi bit back a hiss of pain. He wasn’t even certain which one had managed to land the hit. Probably the Strain, who had been throwing some kind of sharp-edged disks of power at him. One had sliced a thin shallow cut in his neck and blood was dripping down from the wound, soaking his already blood-stained shirt. Other than that and the wound in his side, he was nearly unscathed. Fushimi felt a dark smile curl over his lips.

It _had_ felt nice, hadn’t it, and it wasn’t like that was anything new. He’d been twisted inside from the very start, after all, and he’d always known it.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there trying to catch his breath when he became aware of the sound of many feet approaching. Fushimi felt himself tense, the knife slipping back into his hands as easily as if it belonged there.

“You there! Don’t move!” A bright light blinded him as a commanding female voice rang out. Fushimi clicked his tongue and grimaced at the group of figures walking stiffly towards him. He recognized the blue uniforms immediately.

Scepter 4. The last he’d had anything much to do with them had been back when they’d attacked the center to save Anna and he and Misaki had fought the annoying twins. These people seemed different somehow, and it took Fushimi a moment to place the reason why. He recalled Mikoto and Kusanagi talking about it at some point. 

That was it, wasn't it? Scepter 4 had a king now. Fushimi's face twisted into a scowl.

A woman with cold eyes and blonde hair approached him, walking with officious purpose. She surveyed the carnage surrounding him and then gave him a searching look, her eyes going from the tattoo still visible on his chest to the knife in his hand.

“Homra. I see. Did you do all this?”

“I did,” Fushimi said dully. He relaxed his stance slightly but did not return his knife to his sleeve and it disturbed him slightly to realize that he didn’t want to. That he almost wanted them to attack him just to see how many he could take down before they killed him.

The red haze and feral smile were curling inside him again, and his head still pounded.

“I was not aware that Homra had ties to this part of the city.” She was still looking at him as if trying to figure something out.

“I didn’t do it for Homra.” Fushimi couldn’t stop the slight derisive edge added to the last word. Was that how it was for these stupid clans?

_Is everything you people do for a king?_

The woman gave him a vaguely exasperated look, as if he was a particularly troublesome child, and it set his teeth on edge. She opened her mouth to say something else and a cool, cultured voice cut her off.

“Awashima-kun. Stand down.”

All of the Scepter 4 members immediately stiffened and the woman saluted sharply.

“Captain. I was simply--”

“It’s no problem, Awashima-kun.” A figure stepped forward to join her and Fushimi got his first look at the Blue King.

It took Fushimi a moment to recall the overheard name: Munakata Reisi, and he looked as refined as the Red King was wild. His smile was calm and pleasant and completely dangerous, and his eyes were sharp and intelligent. Fushimi felt his hackles rise and his hand tightened over the hilt of his knife even though he knew it would be as useless as a plastic toy against a king. Though the Blue King’s aura felt cool and steady, the exact opposite of Mikoto’s usual wild untamed power, it was no less crushing. 

No less crushing, but not stifling. When Mikoto was around Fushimi always felt closed-in and smothered, as if he was being rejected by his own body. Munakata's aura was colder and steadier, and Fushimi was slightly surprised to find that he could breathe normally.

Even so, he didn’t relax and he did not let go of the knife.

“I can handle this, Awashima-kun,” Munakata said smoothly. “Please secure the rest of the area.”

“Yes sir.” The woman saluted sharply and walked away, barking out orders to her subordinates.

The Blue King turned his eyes to Fushimi and Fushimi felt his muscles tense so hard it was painful. It was like staring down a venomous snake disguised as a peacock.

“It was impressive of you to handle them all by yourself,” Munakata said calmly, almost soothingly, as if he was trying to tame an injured beast. “We had been tracking them for some time. Were you aware that one of these men is a Strain?”

“That one,” Fushimi said sharply, jerking his head towards one of the unmoving bodies. Munakata nodded and motioned his subordinates towards the indicated man before turning back to Fushimi with the same infinitely polite smile.

“It’s rare to see a Red clansman act on his own,” the Blue King continued. He eyed Fushimi shrewdly. “Certainly not something one would normally expect.”

“I guess.” Fushimi shrugged noncommittally and winced in pain as the wound in his side reminded him of its existence.

“Ah, you’re wounded.” Munakata glanced down at the wound and then back at Fushimi, who was eying him suspiciously. “We have medical care available at Scepter 4, if you’d like to accompany me back.”

“Am I being arrested?” Fushimi asked slowly, not relaxing his stance. Munakata was still looking at him with that sharp-edged gaze, as calm and cool as Mikoto’s was burning and intense. Now that Fushimi was standing so close to the Blue King he found himself thinking that the two kings were not so different after all. Mikoto was a lion scattering mice before his approach, but Munakata was the hawk deciding if the mouse was useful enough to let live. 

_Creepy,_ Fushimi decided with a grimace.

“Of course not,” Munakata said. “You did us a favor. They attacked you first?”

“They did.”

“Self defense, then. We certainly couldn’t fault you for that. So no, you are not being arrested.” Munakata held out a hand to him. “I am simply offering you some assistance, in return for the help you’ve given us in hunting down a criminal Strain. ”

Fushimi stared at the offered hand for a moment. He stuffed one hand into his pocket, fist closing tightly around his PDA.

Misaki had to have noticed by now. There was something cold settling in his lungs and he suddenly felt light-headed. He needed to find Misaki.

“I’m fine,” Fushimi said shortly. Munakata lowered his hand, completely unfazed, and turned back towards his subordinates.

“Very well.” Munakata pushed up his glasses with one hand and gave Fushimi another cool smile. “I must get back to my work. But I imagine we’ll meet again sometime, Fushimi-kun.”

Fushimi nodded curtly and turned to leave, and didn’t bother to ask how it was that Munakata knew his name.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining by the time he reached the bar.

Fushimi had stopped briefly by the apartment he and Misaki shared and he wasn’t quite certain if he was disappointed or relieved when Misaki turned out to be absent. Fushimi had briefly dealt with his wound, contenting himself with simply swathing it in just enough bandages to slow the bleeding. Then he’d taken a quick moment to change clothes before leaving to find Misaki again.

It had been raining when he’d left the apartment, too, but Fushimi hadn’t really had much of a choice but to walk in it. He didn’t own an umbrella.

_(The sky was gray and threatening and Fushimi stood stupidly in the doorway of the school, staring at the rain as his fellow students surged out around in him in groups of twos and threes, talking excitedly with each other as they went, umbrellas in hand._

_Fushimi shifted slightly and stared up at the cold sky with dull eyes, white hands tight around the handles of his school bag. Three boys from his class ran by, looked at him once and then dashed past, snickering. Fushimi didn’t bother to watch them go and continued to stand there unnoticed, staring at the rain._

_It wasn’t like he cared. All of this, it was always nothing to him._

_“Saruhiko!” The yell was the only warning he had before the Misaki dive-bomb hit and nearly bowled him over. “I didn’t think you’d still be here!”_

_Fushimi shrugged._

_“I was waiting for the rain to stop.”_

_“It’s still raining?” Misaki peered around him to look outside and scowled. “It’s been crappy like this all day.” He glanced back curiously at Fushimi. “Did you forget your umbrella?”_

_“….Yes.” It was easier to say that. Easier not to mention the broken umbrella he’d tossed in the trash a short time ago, the one that had been neatly sliced to ribbons. Easier not to mention finding it broken and listening to three of his classmates laughing and slapping each other on the back behind him, as if they’d just enjoyed a great joke._

_All of it stupid things, annoying things, things that had no meaning to him, so easier not to say it._

_“Oh.” Misaki seemed to consider that for a second before giving an thoughtless shrug. “Then you can just share mine, I guess.”_

_“What?” Fushimi’s eyes widened in sudden surprise._

_“Well, we’re friends, right?” Misaki said, as if it was all no big deal to him. Something he might say to anybody. “I’ll just walk home with you and you can share mine on the way so we both don’t get wet. I mean, unless you don’t want to…”_

_Something he might say to anybody, but Fushimi was the one he was saying it to._

_“No, that’s fine.” Fushimi couldn’t stop the smile from coming over his face and Misaki seemed to light up at the sight of it. Fushimi felt something catch in his throat._

_Misaki held out the umbrella with one hand and Fushimi wrapped one of his hands over the hilt as well, fingers just barely touching Misaki’s, and together they walked out into the rain._

_Fushimi silently made a note to never replace that umbrella.)_

The rain fell heavily on him and Fushimi clenched his teeth, and kept walking.

Kusanagi looked up as Fushimi entered and the greeting that had been on his lips died the moment he caught sight of the state of Fushimi’s being.

“Fushimi? You’re soaking wet!”

“I didn’t have an umbrella,” Fushimi said testily, scanning the near-empty bar with an irritated click of his tongue. The only person visible besides Kusanagi was Anna, sitting on a stool in the corner. Misaki was nowhere to be seen and Fushimi immediately turned as if to leave.

“Wait a minute, you’re not going back out there.” Kusanagi directed him over to a chair. “Let me find some towels, you’re dripping everywhere. Anna-chan, come help.”

Anna dutifully hopped off her stool and followed Kusanagi upstairs, glancing curiously up at Fushimi as she went past.

“Ah, Fushimi?” Totsuka’s face suddenly appeared from the stairwell. “There you are, we wondered what happened to you. Yata tried to call you, but your phone wasn’t picking up.”

Fushimi glanced up sharply at that and then quickly looked away. Totsuka was smiling at him again and it was pissing him off. Fushimi’s hand ran over the PDA still in his pocket, fingers sliding along the edges.

Misaki had tried to call. He didn’t know why it mattered, but it did. That was something, wasn’t it? That Misaki had called.

Fushimi bit his lip and kept his head lowered, trying his best not to meet Totsuka’s eyes. Totsuka always had a way of looking at you that suggested he knew exactly what was happening in your head, and Fushimi thought that was the thing about Totsuka that he hated the most. 

There was the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs and Fushimi looked up slightly as Kusanagi came back down with a towel in his hands and Anna at his heels, the girl nearly buried under the weight of the two large fluffy towels she was carrying.

“Here, dry off.” Kusanagi held out the towel with no hesitation at all and Fushimi felt his irritation spark again.

Every single one of them. They all acted as if he was one of them, as if they were some kind of family. It was ridiculous. It made him sick. Fushimi knew better. He knew better than to trust that sort of thing.

_(The hand reaching out and slapped away every time, until there was no point in reaching out anymore and that was lesson he wouldn't forget.)_

Fushimi’s fists clenched against his pants, twisting the fabric between his fingers. He hated it. He hated everything about it. They weren’t family. They weren’t comrades. He didn’t need any of that useless stuff. He only needed Misaki. Misaki was the only one who had ever been important to him and these people had taken Misaki away. And now they had the nerve to keep acting like that was nothing, like they hadn’t hurt him at all. It made Fushimi sick, being surrounded by all this false warmth.

A light touch on his hand made him start in surprise.

“Saruhiko.” Anna stood beside him, holding out a towel. Fushimi stared back at her for a long moment.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue and took the towel, trying his best to dry off his sopping hair.

“You should probably get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold,” Kusanagi said, going back behind the bar. “You should go home as soon as the rain stops.”

“I’m fine,” Fushimi said dismissively, pulling the towel over his head as if that would somehow make them all disappear. Even so, he could feel the soft gaze resting on him. 

_Don't smile at me like that. Don't be kind to me. I don't need it at all, that useless affection. I've never needed such things._

Fushimi kept his head lowered, wishing he could be anywhere else. He hated being alone at the bar without Misaki, forced to deal with all these people who kept thinking they knew anything about him, who kept wanting to make him think they cared.

All these worthless things, things he had never had or needed. It made his heart clench and his breath clog in his lungs. It was pointless. Everything was pointless. He didn’t know why they felt the need to act like this towards him, every time. He didn’t need Homra. He didn’t need friendship, or comrades. He didn’t need a group or a king, didn’t need people to fuss over him or smile at him or pretend he was one of them when he knew that he never, ever would be.

Every time the Red King was around Fushimi felt stifled and twitchy all over, like he was being smothered. No one else was like that. It was only his weakness, his alone. That was the mark that he could feel deeper than the one on his chest. He wasn’t part of this place. How he’d ever been able to take any of Mikoto’s powers was a mystery even he didn’t want to think about. But it was clear from the very start that he’d never been like the others. So he didn’t need it, didn’t need them to act like he was the same. In the end, it would be the same as every other group he’d ever dared to join until he realized that joining groups was pointless. He didn’t need any of them, not like this.

He just needed Misaki, and Misaki was drifting away. Fushimi bit his lip and the wound in his side ached.

The door slammed open and cool air blew into the bar, and suddenly Fushimi felt as if he could breathe again as Misaki’s voice floated over to his ears.

“—and I _told_ you, that’s stupid because--”

“But Yata-san, what about--”

Kamamoto was on his heels and they were both brandishing open umbrellas. Misaki was waving his around in emphasis to something he was saying, just missing a shelf full of wine glasses.

“Yata-chan, umbrella,” Kusanagi said warningly and Misaki turned to look at him sheepishly, as if just noticing the group clustered around one section of the bar.

“Ah, sorry, Kusanagi-san, I was just saying—Hey!” The umbrella snapped shut as Misaki made a sound of angry surprise. “ _Saruhiko!_ Where the hell have you been?”

Misaki stalked over to him, holding up the umbrella dramatically and using it as a pointer.

“You moron, you’re all wet! You didn’t bring an umbrella, did you? You’ve always been like that, even in middle school I was always having to let you use mine or else you get sick and then--”

“Don’t point that at other people, idiot,” Fushimi said darkly, placing one hand on Misaki’s umbrella and pointing it downward. “Stop being so dramatic.”

_“Me?”_ Misaki snapped. _“You’re_ the one who disappeared! I’ve been calling you for hours, you never answer your phone--”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to go anywhere,” Fushimi said coolly. This was all right. This was familiar, arguing with Misaki like this. He could almost forget where they were and who was surrounding them. It was like old times, just him and Misaki.

Only the two of them. Just like it was supposed to be.

“You’re always like that,” Misaki complained, throwing himself down on the chair beside Fushimi. “You can’t ever work with other people properly, geez. If Totsuka-san hadn’t asked about you I wouldn’t have even noticed you were gone…”

Fushimi's fingers twitched almost imperceptibly, as if he was reaching for a knife. Misaki was still talking but the words sounded far away, as if he was listening from underwater. 

_(“If Totsuka-san hadn’t asked about you I wouldn’t have even noticed you were gone.”)_

_(“There you are!”_

_“Hm?” Fushimi opened his eyes languidly to see Misaki’s irritated face staring back down at him. The sun was shining down behind him and a warm breeze was blowing._

_“You skipped class.”_

_“I didn’t feel like going.” Fushimi felt too tired to even shrug, so he simply closed his eyes again and let the sun warm his face._

_“Hey, Saruhiko!” Misaki yelped indignantly. “I had to go look for you, you know. It was really no fun when I saw you’d run off.”_

_There was the sound of movement and he opened one eye curiously. Misaki had flopped down next to him, hands behind his head, staring up at the clouds._

_“Misaki?”_

_“Next time tell me when you’re skipping,” Misaki muttered irritably. “I’ll skip with you, okay?”_

_Fushimi stared at him for a long moment, watching as the clouds made shadows across Misaki's body._

_“If I don’t tell you,” he said after a moment’s consideration, “will you come find me anyway?”_

_“Well, yeah!” Misaki’s eyes snapped back up to meet his. “It’s always way more interesting when you’re there, Saruhiko!”_

_“All right.” Fushimi closed his eyes again. “Misaki.”_

_“Hm?” He could feel Misaki’s eyes on him but Fushimi didn’t bother to look at him._

_“Come find me again. Every time.”_

_“That’s what I said I’d do,” Misaki said, annoyed. “Just tell me next time, okay?”_

_“If I’m not there, come find me. I want you to find me.”_

_“Saru…” Misaki’s voice was low and irritated. “Hey! You just like making me run around, don’t you?!”_

_“Definitely come find me next time.”_

_“You’re weird, Saruhiko.”)_

“Hey! Hey! Are you even listening, Saru?”

“Was someone saying something?” Fushimi said dully. “I just heard a dog’s yapping.”

“Who are you calling a dog, you shitty monkey?” Misaki demanded, grabbing his collar for a moment and then pulling his hand away with a yell. “Your shirt’s all soaked too! Seriously, why don’t you ever just buy an umbrella?”

“Normally I’d borrow Misaki’s, but it wasn’t left for me,” Fushimi said, leaning against the bar. 

“That’s because _you_ ran off!” Misaki stated. “That’s what I was saying before, if you’d just stay with everyone like you’re supposed to--”

“Like I’m supposed to?” Fushimi said mockingly. “Unlike Misaki, I’m not a kindergartner who needs his hand held every time he goes outside.”

“You…you’re just trying to piss me off now, aren’t you?”

“Now, now.” Totsuka waded between them, waving his hands in a placating manner. “There’s no need to fight about it. Fushimi’s all right, so it’s okay. You were worried, weren’t you, Yata?”

"Hmmph." Misaki snorted dramatically and looked away, crossing his arms. "Like I'd be worried about a stupid monkey."

"I didn't ask you to worry about me, _Misaki._ " Fushimi made certain to place extra emphasis on the name and felt gratified when Misaki gave an indignant yelp.

"And don't use that name! I tell you that every time and you never listen, ever since we met..."

"Was someone speaking?" Fushimi mused, looking away.

"You shitty monkey..." Misaki growled, swinging the umbrella upwards again and just missing shattering a nearby bottle.

"Yata-chan," Kusanagi warned again, death in his voice, and Misaki lowered the umbrella with a nervous smile. Kusanagi sighed. "Anyway, what are two doing back already? Weren't you supposed to be collecting intel about that group for Mikoto?"

"Hey, where is Mikoto-san?" Misaki's attention was immediately swayed and Fushimi felt the sudden painful throbbing in his head again.

"He went out," Kusanagi said. Misaki replied but Fushimi couldn't hear the words at all. Blood was pounding in his ears and his fingers dug into the skin of his palms.

_It’s always about Mikoto-san. Who cares about where he is. I'm here. I've always been here. Isn't that enough?_

_It's disgusting._ Fushimi lowered his head slightly, letting the towel slip down to shadow his face. _And I'm just as bad. Wagging my tail for every scrap of attention he shows me._ Fushimi grit his teeth in frustration. _No better than--than Misaki._

_Why does it even matter? I don’t need any of this._

_Not even Misaki. I’m fine on my own._

_I’m fine._

His head hurt too much and his chest felt like it was on fire. Bleeding out again, the same as always. How was he supposed to even think, when his head hurt so much?

A hand pressed against his forehead and he froze.

“Are you all right, Fushimi? You look a little pale,” Totsuka said. Fushimi’s wide eyes met his and Totsuka smiled at him. The smile made his chest burn and Fushimi's face twisted into a scowl. 

_You don't know me. Don't look at me like that._

_Don't care about me like that, not when you don't know anything at all._

"Huh?" Misaki's head snapped back and an exasperated look came over his face. “I knew it! You caught a cold again, right? That’s because you don’t take care of yourself, you stupid monkey, I _told_ you--”

“Shut up,” Fushimi growled. The pain in his head made him suddenly angry at everything, at Misaki, at Totsuka, at the stupid bar and the idiot people who all kept acting like they had any idea of anything about him. 

_I never wanted to be here with any of you. I never asked to be near anyone like this._

“Don’t _you_ tell _me--”_

_Even_ Misaki—

Everything hurt. His head, his side, his chest, and Fushimi didn’t even know why.

_If Suoh Mikoto walked in right now, he would look away._

The thought was like a blade across an open wound and Fushimi stiffened.

_If Suoh Mikoto walked in right now, it would be no different than if I was alone._

Fushimi stood abruptly, letting the towel slide off his head onto the floor.

“I’m leaving,” he said to no one in particular as he walked quickly towards the door, ignoring Misaki yelling after him.

It was cold outside and the rain was still falling lightly. The chill seemed to hang in the air like a physical weight and Fushimi felt as if it was clinging to his entire body, weighing him down. Every breath felt heavy, a block of ice sliding down his throat and settling in his chest. It seemed like his legs should be too heavy to lift, but he still forced himself forward.

_I don’t want this. I don’t want this._

_(It would be better if everyone went away, wouldn't it?)_

_What I want is..._

_(Don’t come near me. I don’t need any of you.)_

_What I want…_

_Misaki…_

“Idiot, you’re getting soaked again!” And then Misaki was there next to him, stretching in order to hold the umbrella over his head. Fushimi looked up dumbly, face blank. Misaki was staring up at him with a face that was a mix of annoyance and concern. “If you get sick this time I’m not taking care of you!”

“….Misaki?”

“And don’t call me that!” Misaki was walking in step with him. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing.” Fushimi looked away from him. “Stop following me.”

“Hey.” Misaki grabbed his wrist and the touch stopped him dead. Misaki’s hand felt warm against his skin and Fushimi could image the fingers burning their image into the flesh, scarring him with the touch, a piece of Misaki branding him deeper than any Homra tattoo ever could. “Saru. Just stop and listen to me for a minute, okay?”

“Let go.” There were words he wanted to say but Fushimi could never seem to get them to come out right. Misaki’s hand was on his wrist and he suddenly felt like a cornered animal, like he had to get away before he was swallowed.

Which was ridiculous. This wasn’t the Red King, this was _Misaki._ Idiot Misaki, who got into trouble all the time if Fushimi wasn’t there. There was no reason for him to be afraid of someone as useless and stupid as Misaki.

He still wanted to run.

“Saruhiko…” Misaki was staring at him as if he was a stranger and the hand fell away from Fushimi’s wrist. All of the fight seemed to drain out of Fushimi and he looked down at his hands, as if he could see it dripping like blood from his fingertips.

“Why did you come after me?”

“Well…you were gonna get wet again, right?” Misaki said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world and Fushimi’s chest ached. Why did all these words come so _easy_ for Misaki, when Fushimi’s mouth would never open when he wanted it to? “Hey, are you really sick again? I always have to tell you to be careful you idiot, every time it rains--”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t, but lies had always tasted better in his mouth. 

“Hmm.” Misaki was eying him suspiciously and Fushimi kept gazing steadily past him out at nothing, unable to meet Misaki’s eyes. Finally Misaki gave a heavy sigh. “All right, all right. Well, then you can come help me out, right?”

“Help?”

“Kamamoto and I were trying to get info on those drug dealers Bandou caught in our territory last week,” Misaki said, face suddenly bright and eager. “We finally figured out where a few of them were hiding. Kusanagi-san told me to go take care of them, so I’ll let you come along.”

“Why should I?” Fushimi looked away again, irritated. It was always about Homra now.

_(Is everything you people do for a king?)_

“Well….you’re my partner, right?” Misaki smiled.

Misaki smiled at _him,_ and Fushimi felt something catch in his throat. He nodded and didn’t even realize it until Misaki gave a cheer and grabbed his wrist again, pulling him forward.

“All right! Come on, let’s go kick some asses!”

Misaki, leading the way, and every time Fushimi could not stop himself from following. Wherever Misaki went, he’d always followed, even when the road had led straight to Homra. It was a compulsion he’d never quite been able to break.

Fushimi moved his hand so that his fingers could entwine themselves in Misaki’s, and let himself be led.


	3. Chapter 3

“This is it?” Fushimi looked up at the derelict building in front of them with considerable boredom.

“This is definitely the place!” Misaki snapped. “This is something important for protecting the honor of Homra, I wouldn’t get something like that wrong!”

“Honor.” Fushimi snorted. “All we’re doing is preying on the weaker trash, that’s all.”

“Hey, what the hell does that mean?” Misaki demanded, grabbing Fushimi by his shirt collar. Fushimi felt himself smile and wasn’t sure why.

Misaki was angry, and somehow the sight of those burning eyes turned on him made Fushimi’s heart pound.

“After I let you come along, too,” Misaki muttered, pushing him away suddenly and closing his umbrella with a snap, swinging it around experimentally. “These guys are scum dealing drugs in Mikoto-san’s territory. Don’t you dare compare the likes of them to us.”

“Us,” Fushimi repeated blandly, fingers twitching. 

“If you’re scared, you can just stay out here alone,” Misaki added, taking a step forward. Fushimi reached out without even thinking, grabbing onto the back of Misaki’s shirt as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Hey, let me go!”

“Idiot.” Fushimi didn’t know why he held on so tightly. They weren’t in school anymore. It wasn’t his job to hold onto Misaki now, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to let go. Fushimi clicked his tongue and forced his hands back down to his sides.

“What’s your problem?” Misaki asked. “Ah, whatever! You can just stay out here, you stupid monkey. I’ll do this myself.”

“Don’t just barge into there without a plan,” Fushimi said severely.

Idiot. Idiot. Misaki was just an idiot, like always. Without Fushimi around, he’d get into all sorts of trouble. Without Fushimi around he’d definitely run his head into danger, that was for sure.

_So why do you keep leaving me behind?_

“Sounds like coward talk to me,” Misaki muttered, arms crossed.

“Only to idiots too dumb to understand basic fighting tactics,” Fushimi retorted. “Just because the King can barge into places like this headlong without any preparation doesn’t mean you can too.”

“That’s because Mikoto-san is awesome,” Misaki stated, and Fushimi scowled. “He doesn’t hold back against guys like this. We should try to do the same. We need to teach these guys what happens when you mess with Homra!” He started for the door again and Fushimi grabbed him again. “Aaah, Saru, quit it already!”

“Tch.” Fushimi pressed a hand against his forehead. His head was hurting again, but it was a duller pain than before. This was familiar, comforting even. The pain of Misaki being stupid. “Let me go in first.”

Fushimi kept low to the ground as he prowled the warehouse upper floor. Persuading Misaki had taken more time than he’d expected — how had the idiot gotten even _more_ stubborn than when they were in middle school, it was infuriating — but in the end he’d agreed to let Fushimi try and do some scouting first before they attacked.

_Why do I have to do this?_ Fushimi’s hand clenched around the hilt of his knife. _This is stupid. This doesn’t have anything to do with me or Misaki. Who cares if there are drug dealers around here? We can avoid them. If anyone tries to mess with either of us I can just stab him and we can escape. We don’t need to do these stupid things just because of crap like ‘Homra’s pride.’ If Mikoto-san cares so much, he can squash small fry like this all by himself. He doesn’t even need us._

It was pointless. Here he was finally alone with Misaki without all those other people crowding in on the two of them and he was wandering around a dusty warehouse looking for street punks. Fushimi’s feet slowed and he leaned against a wall, staring up at the ceiling. 

If he went back out now Misaki would wonder how he’d gotten through the entire warehouse so quickly. But from where he was standing Fushimi was certain that he could see anyone who might come by before they saw him. It would be easy to take care of them before they raised an alarm. He could just wait, just let the minutes pass, and then go out and tell Misaki that the information been wrong and the place was empty. Then they could go back to the apartment. They could walk back together. It would be dark in a matter of hours, there was no point in going back to the bar this late. 

They could just go back to their apartment and spend some time there, together. Just the two of them. All Fushimi had to do was lie to Misaki, and they could go back together.

Fushimi rested his back against the wall, closed his eyes, and waited.

“All right you trash, come and get it!” A yell from further inside the building made his eyes snap open and Fushimi groaned internally. 

_That_ idiot. _I should have expected this._

Immediately Fushimi broke into a run, heading towards the sound of commotion from nearby. Leaning over the railing he could see Misaki standing in the center of the floor below, umbrella covered in red flames as he swung it about the way he would normally swing his bat. There were several men surrounding him, trying to keep out of range. 

Fushimi was halfway down the stairs when he caught sight of one man peering out at Misaki from behind a stack of crates. Misaki clearly had no idea he was being watched, posturing dramatically as he yelled at the fallen men surrounding him.

“And you guys tell your boss that this is what happens when you mess with Homra!” Misaki swung the umbrella in a circle, flames shooting out in a ring around him.

The man behind the crates held up a gun and aimed.

Two knives flew from Fushimi’s hands without even a thought as he jumped down the last several steps. The man fell, clutching at his arm where the knives had sunk deep, and Fushimi utterly ignored him, focused only on Misaki.

_You idiot. You stupid idiot. Yelling about Homra almost got you killed. If I hadn’t been here, what would have happened? You could have died._

Misaki. Dead. Fushimi bit his lip and his hands tightened around his knives. An alleyway stained red with blood flashed in his mind. It wasn’t the same, that blood. That blood was only belonging to worthless trash. Even Fushimi’s own blood, that was just red. Misaki’s was different. He would never allow any of these people to harm Misaki. He had long ago promised himself that.

But as long as they were in Homra, he would break that promise again and again.

_Why did we have to go with them? Fushimi’s head was clogged with thoughts again. Why did we have to join Homra anyway? We didn’t need any of that. When it was just you and me, I knew that I could protect you from anyone. Even when Misaki went looking for fights, it was never against anyone that we couldn’t take down together. And now everything is caught up in ‘Homra’s pride’ this and ‘Mikoto-san’ that, and it’s all stupid, all of it, and Misaki is going to get hurt, and I’m not going to be able to do anything._

Something hard slammed against him then and Fushimi reeled. He barely managed to look up in time to see a large, broad-shouldered punk bearing down on him, fists raised to strike. Fushimi reached for his knife but he was off balance and suddenly found himself being thrown to the floor, his head slamming hard against the ground. Stars danced before his eyes and his breath felt hot in his throat. He could dimly make out the fuzzy shape of his attacker standing above him and with a sudden burst of desperation Fushimi rolled over to one side, the man’s fists hitting the ground inches from where he’d just been, and Fushimi stumbled to his feet. One knife flew from Fushimi’s hands. The man dodged to avoid it and Fushimi was immediately there, burying his other knife in the man’s throat.

Blood washed over his hands and the man fell heavily to the ground. Fushimi fell to his knees along with the body, staring dumbly at the knife in his hands. There was a throbbing pain in the back of his head and he suddenly felt strange and far away, as if he was just barely tethered to his own body. Collecting his thoughts was like swimming upstream through mud.

_Misaki._ The name burst into his mind like a life raft. That was right, he was here with Misaki. Where was Misaki? Fushimi had to find him.

Fushimi stumbled dizzily to his feet. He pressed one hand to the back of his head and pulled it away abruptly when he felt the blood matting in his hair. He could dimly hear Misaki’s voice but it sounded strange, as if he was listening to it through a filter.

“All right! Anyone else want to fight me?” Misaki was standing several feet away, swinging the umbrella around proudly. Unconscious bodies surrounded him and there didn’t seem to be a scratch on him.

_Is it me?_ Fushimi wondered dully. _I’m supposed to be the one who protects him. I’m supposed to be the one who drags him along, because he’s too stupid to handle himself. So why is he over there looking fine and I’m acting so pathetic?_ He grit his teeth. _Why am I always the one left like this? Why can Misaki stand there looking fine, when he’s only Misaki?_

He stumbled forward, nearly falling to his knees, leaning heavily against the wall. Fushimi’s fists clenched.

Pathetic. Stupid and pathetic. Why was it always like this now, falling to his knees, forced into the shadows and the corners while Misaki burned so brightly in front of him? They’d always been the same before. Misaki had always been at his side, a step behind, a step ahead. Now Misaki was so far away and Fushimi could only sink lower and lower, rotating further and further out of Misaki’s orbit, a dark shadow being slowly eaten away by the red flames that surrounded Misaki’s body.

_I’ll be nothing to him soon._ It hurt, _burned,_ more than the knock on his head, more than the wound on his side. How was he supposed to keep breathing, when everything hurt so much all the time?

“Wait, please!” Another voice was yelling and Fushimi raised his head. The only punk still standing was in front of Misaki, palms up in a calming motion. The umbrella was swung casually over Misaki’s shoulder and he was smiling cockily

“Heh. One still left, huh?” Misaki raised the umbrella and the man took a hasty step back.

“Wait, wait! I don’t want to fight,” the man said. “I-I’ll tell you anything you want to know, okay? Just let me go. You want to know the name of our boss? I can give it to you. His name, his address, his favorite foods — I’ll tell you all of it.” The smile faded from Misaki’s face and the man rubbed his hands together nervously. “I-I don’t really care about the rest of these guys here. How about you let me help you, huh? I can do anything for you, anything you want. I’ll help you take everyone left from our gang down, all right?”

Misaki scowled down at the man and suddenly swung the umbrella. The man squeaked and fell backwards onto the ground as the umbrella cut through the air a few inches from where he had been standing.

“Guys like you make me sick,” Misaki proclaimed darkly. “You’ll betray your friends just like that? Don’t make me laugh.” Misaki pulled down his collar, revealing the tattoo. “You tell your boss that this is what happens when you guys mess with Homra. We don’t need help from scum like you to take all of your guys down. Tell him that Homra’s Yatagarasu will take down anyone who dares to cause trouble in Mikoto-san’s city!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue in irritation as he forced himself forward again. Stupid Misaki. Idiot Misaki. Always yelling about Homra. _Have you even noticed that I’m here?_

Misaki was still staring down at the remaining gang member with obvious distaste. There was a fire in his eyes that made something inside Fushimi shake and he felt light-headed and strange. His body was tingling with an unpleasant feeling and his hands felt cold, his stomach churning as if he might be sick.

Misaki was angry and staring down, his eyes only on the man in front of him.

_(“You’ll betray your friends just like that?”)_

Fushimi stopped walking for a moment and leaned against the wall again, breathing hard. Something was wrong. He felt so strange and he wasn’t even sure why. There was a small voice fluttering in the very corners of his mind, something dark and unpleasant and he was afraid to stop and listen to it. If he heard those words, Fushimi knew instinctively that nothing would be the same anymore. The fragile balance he was holding onto would slip from his fingertips at last and smash into pieces on the floor.

“Hey, Saruhiko!” Misaki’s voice cut through the haze in his mind and Fushimi raised his head. Misaki was coming towards him, flames dwindling down around him now that all the enemies had been taken care of. “Where the hell have you been hiding? You were taking too long and I got tired of waiting. I told you we didn’t need to scout first, these guys were totally weak, it was nothing to take them all down…” He trailed off, smile dropping off his face. “Saru? You okay?”

_No._ Fushimi’s face twisted into a scowl and he felt a sudden rush of absolute _hate_ towards everything, towards the stupid smile on Misaki’s face and the tattoo glaring on his chest. One of Fushimi’s hands raised to scratch distractedly at his own chest, right over the spot where he knew his own mark was placed. It felt hot under his fingertips, as if it was burning itself into his skin.

“Saruhiko?” Misaki reached for him and Fushimi slapped his hand away without a thought. Misaki’s eyebrows rose in surprise and a hurt look fleetingly crossed his face before being replaced by annoyance. “Hey, what was that for? What’s your problem, just because I took care of it all on my own…”

“My problem is you’re an idiot,” Fushimi said darkly. The headache was back again, throbbing deeper than ever before, pounding into his brain. He could feel Homra’s red under his skin, as if it was burning him alive from inside out. 

“What, you wanna start a fight, bastard?” Misaki challenged. Fushimi forced himself to straighten and turned away from him.

“Shut up and leave me alone. I’m going home.”

“Wait a minute, hey!” Misaki reached for him and Fushimi pulled his hand out of reach. “Saru, hey, what’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s…” The world suddenly began to swim before his eyes and Fushimi put a hand to his head, stumbling dizzily backwards.

“Saruhiko?” And then Misaki was there behind him, catching him before he could fall. “What’s…wait a sec, you’re hurt! What happened?”

“Don’t touch me!” Fushimi tried to pull away but his body didn’t seem to want to obey him and he sagged in Misaki’s grip. 

“Saru…” Misaki sighed. “You’re always like this, you know? If you’re hurt, you should tell me, you know I never notice this stuff on my own. Come on, I’ll take you back to the bar and Kusanagi-san can take care of your injury.”

“No.” Fushimi grabbed onto Misaki’s wrist. “I want to go home.”

“You probably have a concussion or something,” Misaki argued. “We should get back to the bar and--”

“I want to go back to the apartment,” Fushimi repeated with as much strength as he could manage, forcing his gaze to meet Misaki’s. Misaki stared back at him wide-eyed for a long moment before finally nodding.

“…All right, Saruhiko. Come on, I’ll take you back.”

A small smile wound its way onto Fushimi’s face as he let his body relax against Misaki’s. He felt Misaki tense for a moment, Misaki’s hands tightening against his shoulders.

“You’re gonna be okay Saru. I’ll take you home, okay? We’ll go home and I’ll fix you up.”

“Mmm.” Fushimi nodded and allowed Misaki to half-carry him as they exited the warehouse together.


	4. Chapter 4

“I can’t believe you let weak guys like that take you down, Saru!” They were sitting side by side on the couch as Misaki wound bandages around Fushimi’s head.

“It wouldn’t have been a problem if _someone_ hadn’t come bursting inside yelling and causing a ruckus everywhere,” Fushimi shot back. Now that they were back inside their apartment he was feeling a little more like himself. The headache had subsided to a dull pain in the back of his mind and his body felt like his own again.

“Well, you were taking forever! How long was I supposed to wait, huh?”

“Until I contacted you and told you to come in!”

“That kind of tactic is for weaklings anyway,” Misaki defended himself, tightening the last knot on the bandage. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go back to the bar? Kusanagi-san’s better at this kind of first aid stuff than I am. You might need to go to the hospital or something.”He moved as if to stand and Fushimi grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“This is fine.”

Misaki looked confused but sat back down on the couch anyway. The air felt calm between them and Fushimi let his eyes slide closed, leaning his body forward so that he was nearly touching Misaki.

_(Lazy summer days, lying side by side on the grass, and Fushimi thought that this was the only time he really felt as though he could let himself relax…)_

The couch shifted beneath him and suddenly Misaki’s warmth was gone, replaced by an empty void. Fushimi opened his eyes.

Misaki had already gotten to his feet again and was fiddling with his PDA.

“Misaki…?”

“Hmm?” Misaki glanced over at him, phone to his ear, the movement innocent and utterly thoughtless. “We should probably at least call and let Kusanagi-san and the others know we’re all right.” Misaki’s eyes lit up. “Ah, and we have to let Mikoto-san know too, that we took care of those guys! Since you got injured I’ll even let you have some of the credit, okay, Saruhiko?”

“Tch.” Fushimi looked away, digging his fingers into the couch.

_Stupid. Stupid. So stupid._ He didn’t know why he felt so annoyed but Fushimi couldn’t help it. Everything was always about Homra and Mikoto now.

“What’s your problem?” Misaki was looking at him again, as if he didn’t understand a thing. It was even worse than all the other irritants clogging Fushimi’s mind.

“All of it,” Fushimi muttered, the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them. “Is that all your idiot mind can think about? You could have been killed back there, and for what?”

“For Homra!” Misaki said immediately, lowering the phone as he turned to face Fushimi. Looking at Fushimi, and yet not seeing a thing. “What’s with you today, Saru? You don’t like guys like that either, right? Causing trouble in our territory like that, it makes Mikoto-san look weak letting them run around unpunished…”

“So what?” Fushimi stated. “It’s none of our business. People like those drug dealers, they’re nothing to us. Just useless trash, not worth beating up.”

“That’s _exactly_ why we have to go after them!” Misaki argued. “Mikoto-san--”

“’Mikoto-san, Mikoto-san,’” Fushimi mocked, the word like blood on his tongue. His head was throbbing again. “Is that all your worthless mouth can ever say?”

“Hey! Are you making fun of Mikoto-san?” Misaki’s hackles rose immediately. “I won’t forgive that kind of thing, Saru!”

_( “You got in trouble for fighting again?” Fushimi crossed his arms as Misaki glared up at him._

_“It’s not my fault! Those assholes deserved it!” Misaki stated._

_“I swear, you’re such a simple-minded idiot…” Fushimi clicked his tongue and reached for another bandage._

_“But they were saying all kinds of stuff about you, there’s no way I can let people get away with crap like that!”)_

Fushimi bit his lip and looked away.

It hurt. He didn’t know why, but it hurt, it _hurt,_ a fire in his chest and his throat hotter than any flames Misaki had ever thrown. 

_Is that all you think about now, Mikoto-san? Is he the thing you care about most?_

_What about me?_

_What about_ us?

“I’m just being sensible,” Fushimi said with exaggerated boredom, standing up slowly from the couch and staring straight at Misaki’s face. Misaki looked angry and something deep inside Fushimi twisted into a smile. 

_I want to see more,_ a small voice whispered in the back of his mind, barely heard over the pounding in his head. _If you can’t look at me the way you do at Mikoto-san, then look at me just like this, Misaki._

“Drug dealers are just that. Trash.” Fushimi shrugged. “It’s not something that should concern anyone except other trash. Mikoto-san’s precious ‘territory’ is just a single bar in a corner of town. We’re not the police, we’re not Scepter 4. Cleaning up the streets, that has nothing to do with you or me.”

“I told you, this is about Homra!” Misaki insisted. “This is a matter of pride, Saru, pride! We can’t just--”

“Pride?” Fushimi couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping his lips. “What sort of pride is that? What kind of pride does your precious Homra have? Just a bunch of gangsters hiding behind a king who’s the biggest punk of them all--”

“That’s it, you bastard!” Misaki immediately aimed a punch at him and Fushimi instinctively dodged. Misaki overbalanced, nearly falling, and Fushimi grabbed at his arm. Misaki readjusted and tried to pull away and suddenly the pain in Fushimi’s head spiked and his vision blurred. He could feel himself moving but it seemed as if his body was on automatic pilot, moving without any conscious thought at all, and the next thing he knew they were both on the ground, Misaki lying beneath him, Fushimi’s hands pinning him down by the wrists and their faces inches apart.

“….Saruhiko?” The anger had drained from Misaki’s voice, replaced by concern. Fushimi was suddenly aware that he was breathing heavily and sweat was dripping from his skin. His hands felt clammy around Misaki’s wrists.

_Stupid. Pathetic. And I’m the worst of all._

He was smiling and he didn’t know why. Fushimi’s hands tightened around Misaki’s wrists and his smile only seemed to widen when Misaki yelped in pain.

“Hey, quit it! Seriously, Saru, you’re acting weird all of the sudden…”

“Am I?” Fushimi wanted to laugh again. He stared evenly down at Misaki’s face, their eyes meeting, and he felt another sharp stab of pain. Fushimi found himself leaning downward, his face so close to Misaki’s that he could feel Misaki’s breath on his skin. “Am I weird, Misaki?”

“Y-yeah.” Misaki looked taken aback, as if he didn’t understand what was happening.

_But that’s nothing new, is it?_ Fushimi’s hands tightened on Misaki’s wrists and Misaki gave another indignant yell. Fushimi ignored it, eyes still locked on Misaki’s face. _You’ve never understood me, not really._

_No one has ever understood me._

There was a leaden weight in his chest and a lump in his throat. His blood pounded in his veins, each heartbeat feeling strong enough to shake his entire body.

_I want—_

“Saruhiko, come on, that hurts!” Misaki said, squirming underneath him. “Stop playing around, let me up already!”

_I want--_

Misaki’s eyes were on him and Fushimi was burning up with a need he couldn’t name. If he spoke it, if he even thought it, he was certain something would shatter. If he let himself think it, everything would change. Everything he’d worked so hard to preserve would be ground to powder beneath his hands.

_(Sometimes Fushimi thought that the day he had joined Homra he’d received a deep cut to the vein, and he’d been bleeding out slowly ever since.)_

“Come on, Saru, let me go!” Misaki was yelling again and it was irritating. Misaki was always irritating now. Not in the way he’d been before, the way that Fushimi understood. A different way.

_It was supposed to stay like this forever. Just the two of us._

_And now—_

_Now—_

_(”Mikoto-san is the best, isn’t he?”)_

_(“I need to work hard so I can be of use to Mikoto-san!”)_

_(“I can take care of it, Mikoto-san!”)_

Fushimi stared down at Misaki and he _knew._

Misaki was looking at him now, bewildered, angry, and it was the only thing he wanted in the world.

_If I could have that gaze on me all the time, I would gladly die for it._

“Misaki.” The word tore itself from his throat and Fushimi relaxed his body, hands reaching down to clasp Misaki’s shoulders in a tight grip, face pressed against Misaki’s neck.

“S-Saruhiko…” Misaki sounded as though he hadn’t a clue in the world what was going on, and Fushimi’s fingers clenched tightly around the fabric of his shirt. “H-hey, come on, this-this is enough. Maybe you should get to bed, you’re probably sick from being in the rain…”

He couldn’t say it. No matter what, he definitely couldn’t say it. If he said it, and Misaki rejected him—

—if he said it, and Misaki left him alone--

The air in the apartment felt hot and still, as if time had stopped, and Fushimi couldn’t quite breathe. He wanted to stay like this, forever. Just him and Misaki. 

Fushimi had been living his whole life locked in a cage of his own making, walls built by his own two hands. He knew that. He’d always known that. It was the safest thing, to stay behind those walls. And then Misaki had come and he’d unlatched the door just a bit, just enough to let Misaki inside. Maybe he had still been in the cage even then, but it had never mattered, not as long as Misaki was there with him. 

_A cage with only us two is better than a world without walls and a hundred strangers between us._ Misaki was squirming underneath him and saying something but Fushimi couldn’t hear it over the pounding of his own heart. _Don’t leave without me. Don’t leave me in this place alone._

_I don’t care if it’s a cage. Just stay here with me._

_Just look only at me, Misaki._

“I said, get off!” A sudden sharp stab of pain knocked his breath from his lungs as Misaki’s leg connected hard with his side. Fushimi found himself thrown onto his back, gasping for breath as Misaki clambered to his feet in front of him. Misaki’s face was red and he was breathing hard.

“…Misaki.” Fushimi gingerly sat up, barely hiding a wince as an insistent throbbing pain radiated up his side. Out of the corner of his eye he could just see a small spot of red where Misaki’s leg had unknowingly connected with Fushimi’s earlier wound.

“W-what the hell is wrong with you, Saru?” Misaki demanded. “You’ve—you’ve been acting strange all day! First you run off without telling anyone, and you keep saying all this crap about Mikoto-san and Homra like it’s no big deal--”

“That’s strange?” Fushimi laughed as he stood, one armed wrapped protectively around his torso. The red stain on his shirt was spreading and it was as if he could see beneath the fabric to the blood pooling beneath. Fushimi had the wild thought that if he stared hard enough maybe he could see all of it, the blood pumping in his veins and arteries, tissues and organs all beneath the skin, his entire body laid bare like a surgeon’s dummy. If Misaki only looked at him long enough maybe he’d be able to see it too, all the useless functions of a body that no one had ever had any need for. “You’re always such an idiot, _Mi-sa-ki._ ” He stretched the name out as far as it would go, each syllable a throwing knife, and felt strangely gratified when Misaki blanched.

That had _hurt,_ and Fushimi was happy about it. He had cut Misaki, at last.

Every time Misaki looked away it was like a dagger in his chest, so it was just as well that Misaki should feel that sting too.

“If you’re just going to act like an asshole then I’m going back to the bar,” Misaki stated.

Fushimi laughed at that and the small part of him that was still functioning normally noted the slightly crazed edge to it.

“Go on, then,” Fushimi sneered. “Back to your precious _Mikoto-san._ ”

“Listen you shitty monkey, if you don’t--” Misaki suddenly cut off sharply, staring at Fushimi’s side. Fushimi followed his gaze and realized that the entire side of his shirt had gone red with blood. “H-hey, Saruhiko, what the hell…? I didn’t kick you that hard, what--” He reached for the wound and Fushimi half-stumbled backwards away from him.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Stop acting like a little kid, let me see it--”

“Don’t touch me!” The words were practically a shriek, and Misaki froze in mid-movement. The apartment suddenly felt too hot and too close and Fushimi could feel his breath coming in short gasps. It reminded him of the way he felt whenever Mikoto was around and he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“I’m leaving,” Fushimi said curtly, heading for the door.

“Wait a minute, Saru, you’re hurt!” Misaki immediately moved to intercept him.

“I’m fine,” Fushimi snapped, hand on the door handle. The fever that had been burning in his veins moments before felt as though it was draining out from the opened wound in his side along with the blood. “I don’t need your help. I’m fine by myself. I don’t need you, or Homra, or Mikoto-san. I’m fine on my own.”

With that he wrenched open the door and stumbled out, ignoring the way Misaki angrily yelled his name after him.

The rain from earlier had subsided into a dull hanging mist. Fushimi stumbled forward blindly, not really sure where he was going or what he intended to do. His body felt slow and sluggish and his steps were unsteady. He had one hand pressed tightly against his bleeding side. The other reached up to touch the Homra tattoo on his chest and he found his fingers digging into the skin, as if he could tear it off and throw it away.

_Misaki. Misaki. Misaki._ The word repeated in his mind like a holy mantra. 

It wasn’t the same anymore. Misaki, himself, everything. When they’d first joined Homra he had told himself that he could endure it, endure the stupidity and the false camaraderie and everything. He’d told himself that it would all be fine in the end, as long as he still had Misaki next to him. As long as Misaki was there, it was all he needed.

_Stupid._ Fushimi clenched his fist against his chest. He could feel the cut deep inside he’d received the day he’d taken Mikoto’s hand and accepted his power bleeding out again, blood pooling between his fingers. 

_( “Mikoto-san’s so cool!”)_

_(“Because I’m Homra’s Yatagarasu!”)_

Fushimi had never been a person who got close to other people. There was no point to it, he knew that, the same way he knew the sky was blue or the sun was warm. The closed world had always been fine with him, because it kept him safe. He couldn’t even remember now, why he’d let Misaki inside in the first place.

_(”All right, has everyone formed their groups? Hm? Oh, Fushimi-kun, you still haven’t got a group? Come on, someone must want to be your partner.”)_

He didn’t care. It didn’t hurt, it had _never_ hurt. He had never let it hurt. Being in a group only led to trouble in the long run. Affection, bonds, ties to other people…that had never been something Fushimi had needed or wanted.

_(”Surely someone in the class wants to make a group with Fushimi-kun?”)_

Then Misaki had been there. And soon it was as if Misaki had always been there, as if there had never been a time when it hadn’t been Fushimi and Misaki, a matched set. As if there had never been a time when they weren't side by side, back to back, always together, never needing anyone else.

Until now. Until Homra.

He was still Misaki’s comrade, but so was everyone else. To Misaki, all of Homra was his ally, everyone a friend. No one was any more special than anyone else, no one except Mikoto. Everyone else was just a part of the whole, a single figure in a growing world.

_But that isn’t what I want._ The realization took his breath away and Fushimi stopped dead. He could see it clearly now, in his head. He was fading from Misaki’s world, becoming just another person in the crowd. 

_( “You’re my partner, right?”)_

‘Partner,’ Misaki would say. ‘Comrade.’ Words that would apply to anyone else Misaki was fighting alongside at that given moment. Just one of many, all painted with the same brush.

_No one understands Misaki as well as I do. No one cares for Misaki as much as I do. But Misaki…_

_Misaki…_

Fushimi leaned his head back, staring up dully at the gray clouds above. He could feel his entire body shaking with something beyond pain, something that cut so hard inside that he thought he could go mad from it.

_Misaki…what do I have to do to become a special existence to you?_

There was a sudden squealing of tires and Fushimi nearly fell backwards, inches away from being run over by a car. He stared uncomprehendingly upwards as the window slowly rolled down, revealing a coolly amused face.

“Ah, Fushimi-kun. How strange to run into you here.”

A hundred caustic replies ran through Fushimi’s head as he stared blankly at the Blue King. He could feel the other man’s power radiating around him, as calm and unruffled as Munakata himself. 

The same as Mikoto’s, and yet entirely different. Fushimi could still breathe here. His pulse didn’t pound, his body didn’t scream to run. Fushimi rose on unsteady feet, clicking his tongue and doing his best to look as if he hadn't been at all startled.

“I believe I told you to get that wound looked at,” Munakata continued, and Fushimi couldn’t stop himself from clasping a hand guiltily over the red stain coating his side. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” The words tasted like acid on his tongue, a lie he was finally sick of telling. Munakata only smiled.

“My earlier offer still stands,” he said, ignoring Fushimi’s glare. “We have medical personnel at Scepter 4 headquarters. If you’d like to join me, I’m certain we can help you.”

Fushimi wanted to laugh in his face. ‘Help?’ He was already beyond that.

_Unless you can close the world, there’s no help you can give me._

Fushimi opened his mouth to reply but no words seemed to come. He could only stare stupidly at Munakata, feeling dizzy and sick and tired of the entire world.

“You appear in need of some assistance,” Munakata said. “I assure you, I don’t intend this as a trick. You assisted us in defeating that Strain earlier. I’m only returning that favor.” He held out a hand. “Well, Fushimi-kun?”

Fushimi stared at the proffered hand, head pounding with the memories of an earlier time and another hand coated in red that he now knew he should never have taken.

His PDA suddenly buzzed and Fushimi dug it out of his pocket. He pulled it out and stared at the name of the incoming caller on the screen.

_Yata Misaki._

Fushimi’s hand tightened around the PDA and he could feel his body burn with a fire hotter than the Red King’s power that slept inside him.

Fushimi turned off the PDA and took the Blue King’s hand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, someday I'll write something happy for these two.

Fushimi slept with the window open on a bed in an empty dorm at Scepter 4 headquarters and stared fixedly at a small black spot on the wall.

He hadn’t intended to stay. He’d spent an uncomfortable car ride with Munakata – uncomfortable for him, at least, Munakata had smiled politely the entire time and made irritating small talk -- before being taken to have his wounds looked at. He’d assumed they would send him home as soon as he was taken care of, but once again the Blue King had been waiting for him and had requested he stay for dinner. Fushimi hadn’t wanted to agree, but there wasn’t much way around it. He had no idea what the meal had consisted of, because Munakata’s big-boobed lieutenant had covered it all with some kind of disgusting-looking red crap before offering it to him with a suspicious glare, and it wasn't until the entire ordeal was over that Munakata had finally offered to have a car take him back home.

Back to the apartment, where Misaki was probably waiting. Misaki had probably called him over and over again too, trying to figure out where he’d gone.

Probably.

Fushimi’s hands tightened around the blankets. His head was hurting again and it had nothing to do with the wound.

There were things Fushimi knew, things he had learned long ago and had always, always remembered. Everything broke. Everything shattered, everything disappeared eventually. He knew that. Anything he tried to hold would always slip from his hands so he’d never bothered to hold anything.

Misaki had changed everything. Fushimi didn’t even know how he’d allowed that to happen, but Misaki had changed everything. He’d let himself believe that he and Misaki would be together forever. He’d convinced himself that if he held on tight enough then Misaki would never be able to leave him. He’d thought that if he just kept Misaki close, then they would be all right. They wouldn’t break. Misaki wouldn’t be one of those things that shattered and was swept away. Misaki was going to be his one permanent thing, the thing he didn’t have to worry about losing.

And even though Fushimi had held on so tightly, Misaki had slipped away anyway.

Fushimi bit his lip and rolled over, unable to find a comfortable position. The bed felt too small and too empty at the same time. His hands reaching out felt nothing but cold air.

So many things Fushimi knew, and he’d let himself forget. He’d thought that he and Misaki would always be together, that his hand was the only one that would fit in Misaki’s. Fushimi had let himself _believe_ and everything had shattered again, just the way it always did.

_( “There you are, Saruhiko!”)_

_( “Let’s go to the game center, okay, Saruhiko?”)_

_( “You can use my umbrella, then.”)_

It was all Misaki’s fault. Fushimi grit his teeth. Misaki had been the one to leave. Misaki had been the one to change, the one who’d decided they should join Homra. Misaki was the one whose eyes had strayed. Misaki looked only at Mikoto now.

_I was always looking at you. I was always holding tightly to you. So why…_

_Why wasn’t it enough?_

_(”You’ll betray your friends just like that?”)_

The words tore through his mind like a hurricane and Fushimi’s eyes snapped open.

_(”You’ll betray your friends just like that?”)_

Misaki’s gaze had been steady then, hadn’t it? He’d been so angry.

_( “Guys like you make me sick.”)_

_( “You’ll betray your friends just like that?”)_

Fushimi could feel the idea welling up within him, perfect and horrible and terrifying and _perfect,_ and he felt the smile spreading across his face. He thought he might be laughing but he wasn’t sure. His body was trembling, though, and his face felt hot.

_(Just look only at me, Misaki.)_

He couldn’t be Misaki’s most important thing anymore, he knew that. Mikoto and Homra, they were Misaki’s important things now. Misaki had been the one to ruin everything, hadn’t he? Misaki had been the one to change, when they’d been fine the way they were. Misaki had been the one to look away. Misaki had been the one to abandon the cage with Fushimi still inside. Misaki wasn’t looking at him anymore. Misaki would never again look at Fushimi the way he used to, as if Fushimi was the most important thing in his world.

Misaki had flown from the cage and left Fushimi behind, all alone behind iron bars he didn’t dare try to break. Misaki had left him and hadn’t even bothered to look back.

_If I can’t be the thing you love, I’ll have to be the thing you hate._

Fushimi’s fingers curled around the pillow, pulling it close against his body as if desperately trying to transfer some of the warmth to himself. His throat felt dry.

It was the only way. It was the only possible way he could make Misaki think of him as Fushimi Saruhiko again instead of just one of a hundred comrades. Only one way that he could be someone Misaki would always stop to look at, someone Misaki would always turn his eyes to when he passed by. The only way he could stand out stark against the sky instead of fading away into background noise.

_( “You’ll betray your friends just for that?”)_

_Friends? Don’t make me laugh. I never needed those. I never asked for those._

He was definitely laughing now and he couldn’t seem to stop. Fushimi’s body curled in on itself and he couldn’t stop laughing.

_And besides, Misaki…which one of us is really the betrayer here?_

—

Fushimi let out the breath he didn’t remember holding as he let the door close shut behind him. He was shaking noticeably and his hands felt clammy as he let himself lean against the wall for a moment, waiting for his pulse to slow. He wouldn’t miss this at all, the uncomfortable stifling feeling of being near the Red King.

He wasn’t really sure what he’d expected to happen, when he went to tell Mikoto he was leaving. He hadn’t wanted to do it at all but Munakata had made it clear when he’d accepted Fushimi into Scepter 4 that Fushimi was to formally tell his former king of his change in loyalties. Munakata had made it sound like it was all part of some sort of proper procedure but Fushimi secretly suspected that Munakata had just wanted to see if Fushimi would actually do it and what Mikoto would do in return.

What Mikoto had done was mostly nothing. He’d listened to Fushimi’s short declaration of leaving, looking half-asleep and uninterested, and then there had been an uncomfortable silence, the worst kind that Fushimi never knew how to fill. Mikoto hadn’t made any movement at all until Fushimi turned to leave and then the Red King had stood and stared straight at him, eyes cold and dangerous, and asked in a low voice if it was all Fushimi’s own idea and no one else’s.

Had asked if it was all Fushimi's idea, as if Mikoto suspected that someone else might have manipulated him into it, as if Mikoto was promising swift retaliation on that someone else if that was the case. As if Mikoto actually cared at all where Fushimi went or who he served.

Ridiculous, when Mikoto was the one whose power made Fushimi feel like he was drowning, when Mikoto was the one who had stolen Fushimi’s most precious thing away and hadn’t even paid any notice to it at all.

Fushimi rubbed his arms irritably. He’d returned to his apartment earlier, along with several members of Scepter 4 that Munakata had obligingly sent along to help him pack his things. Misaki hadn’t been there. In fact, Fushimi hadn’t even seen Misaki since the night before when he’d stormed out. 

Fushimi started to smile. It was all right, really. Misaki would show up nearby eventually, and then Fushimi would tell him.

Fushimi would tell Misaki exactly where he was going and what he was doing, and Misaki would hate him completely for it.

He could feel a cold power stirring inside him. He hadn’t known that a person could receive power from two kings and he suspected Munakata hadn’t either, from the keen interested look on his face when he’d made Fushimi a clansman. It had definitely worked, though. Fushimi could feel the two powers, red and blue, circling inside of him like wild animals. It almost made it possible for him to breathe around Mikoto.

Fushimi took a deep breath and began to descend the stairs back down to the bar. Misaki would certainly end up here at some point and he didn't think anyone would mind if he waited. It wasn’t as though it mattered to anyone but Misaki where Fushimi went. He doubted any of them would even notice he was gone.

Family. Comrades. A foolish, easily broken thing, just like everything else.

He took another step and nearly ran into Totsuka coming up. Totsuka smiled at him and Fushimi felt something deep down inside spark painfully.

“Ah, Fushimi. You were talking to the King?”

“I told him I’m leaving,” Fushimi said coldly, not letting the smile effect him.

“Right, Kusanagi-san told me.” Totsuka held up the camera clutched tight in one hand. “I thought I should take one last picture. For good luck.”

“No thank you,” Fushimi said, moving past him without missing a beat.

“Come on, just one picture!” Totsuka said lightly. He touched a hand to Fushimi’s shoulder and Fushimi froze. “I hope you’ll do well over there. We’ll miss seeing you here, Yata especially. He’ll be sad without you around.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue and didn’t reply, shoulders tensing.

“You know, Fushimi,” Totsuka continued, voice calm and friendly, “if this is what you really want to do I think that’s just fine. But about Yata…I think you should trust him.”

Fushimi paused and found himself looking back. Totsuka was staring at him with a smile that was slightly sad and maybe a little wistful, and the sincere concern in his eyes made Fushimi’s fists clench.

“…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said at last.

“Ah, is that so?” Totsuka laughed easily. “Well, that’s just me, then. But still, Fushimi…good luck with your new job.” He smiled at Fushimi again, without a hint of judgment or anger, and then walked past him back up the stairs towards Mikoto’s room.

Fushimi stared after him for a long moment, one hand clenched tightly against his chest. 

_I’m not wrong. I’m definitely not wrong. This is the only thing I can do, to get Misaki to look at me again._

_Trust Misaki? Don’t say stupid things._ He couldn’t possibly do that. If he did that, if he spoke those words to Misaki, told everything he felt, and then Misaki rejected him, if Misaki fully chose Homra and not Fushimi…

Then Fushimi really would have nothing at all.

The sound of Misaki’s voice floated up from below and Fushimi began to descend the stairs again, smiling.

_This is definitely the best way._

Misaki was arguing with Kamamoto when Fushimi entered the bar and he didn’t even look up at first as Fushimi came down the stairs. Fushimi’s face twisted in a scowl and only then did Misaki finally raise his head.

“Saruhiko! Where the hell were you, I was trying to call you all night!” Misaki stormed up angrily towards him. “You didn’t show up for the raid, even Mikoto-san asked where you went. What the hell have you been doing all day?”

“I need to talk to you.” Fushimi tried to keep his face and tone impassive, but the smile was curling across his face again and his voice was laced with a cruel kind of anticipation.

“Huh?” Misaki looked confused but otherwise the same as normal. As if he had no idea that anything was wrong at all, as if it had never occurred to him that something about Fushimi was different today.

_(No one has ever understood me.)_

“We need to talk.” Fushimi grabbed Yata by the collar and began to drag him towards the door.

“Hey, lemme go!” Misaki struggled and broke away. “Saru? What the hell’s going on?”

“I want to talk to you,” Fushimi said deliberately. “Let’s go outside.”

“O-okay.” Misaki still looked confused but he nodded anyway and headed for the door. As he pushed the door open he gave Fushimi a half-glance backwards, a small hopeful smile on his face, as if he was expecting a reconcilement of some sort. It only made Fushimi’s anticipation grow.

_If you do this, he won’t look at you that way anymore,_ a small voice in the back of his head whispered. _He won’t smile at you like that anymore. He won’t smile at you and say your name like you’re someone he trusts._

Fushimi swept past Misaki and headed for the nearest alley, smiling hungrily to himself.

_That’s fine,_ he thought wildly. _That’s just fine. I don’t care if Misaki won’t smile at me. I don’t care if Misaki won’t trust me._

_As long as Misaki is looking at me, I don’t need anything else at all._

—

Misaki was gone and Fushimi’s chest hurt.

The mark on his chest was gone and the burn stung sharply with every breath. It felt like his body was on fire.

But Misaki had been _looking._

Fushimi’s smile was wide and feral. Misaki had finally, finally looked only at him. At that moment, Suoh Mikoto himself could have entered that alley and Misaki wouldn’t have even so much as glanced towards the Red King. In that moment, Fushimi had been the only existence in Misaki’s world.

_Just the way you are to me._

It hurt, but it was worth it. Fushimi smiled again, ignoring the way his breath came in short gasps and the smell of burnt flesh in his nostrils. Already the Homra mark on his chest was a mess of charred skin. And Misaki had been so horrified, so angry. It was _delicious._

_Look at me like that more, Misaki. I don’t care if I have to tear this body to shreds, as long as you only look at me._

There was a car sitting at the other end of the alley, waiting for him. He was expected back at Scepter 4 as soon as he’d settled matters with Homra. Even so Fushimi didn’t move, savoring the pain in his chest and the memory of Misaki’s gaze.

It was the right thing. He had certainly done the right thing.

_Just hate me, Misaki._ The words pounded through his mind, beating like blood through his heart. _Hate me and chase me and_ kill me. _Do whatever you want to me._

_I’ll make you look at me forever._

He was laughing to himself as he pushed away from the wall and slowly began to make his way towards the car.

_(He won’t smile at you like that anymore.)_

Fushimi froze briefly, hand clenched tightly against the raw wound. After a moment he lowered his head and continued to walk away.

_That’s fine. That’s just fine._

_I’m not wrong. This was the only thing I could do. This was certainly the best way._

And even as the words ran through his mind a small part of Fushimi couldn’t help but wonder, if he’d really done the right thing, why the words he’d spoken to Misaki had tasted so very bitter in his mouth.


End file.
